Last week, as I mentioned earlier, I encountered this painting firsthand at the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana. In the somewhat cavernous galleries of the collection, there we find Caravaggio's Basket of Fruit, lit up like the gem it already is, begging us to touch it even though the old security guard is breathing down our inquisative necks. I, of course, didn't touch it and didn't have to. It's beauty, luminosity and clarity really took my breath away, reaffirming my tempestuous love affair with Caravaggio.
Later at home, doing extensive research on him (on wikipedia) I found out how old he was when he painted this masterpiece. Not the 50-something like I expected, not even 30-something. He was 24 years old. Twenty four. Two four. ie: My age. How can someone be such a master of something at such a young age? What did I do wrong? Is being a master of something even on my horizon? On anyone's horizon? I'm not expecting answers, but if you do perchance have one or two, I'm all ears.
Thanks for the giggle (class room post)
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